The Mad Russian
by bluekrishna
Summary: Oleg Petrovsky. Whatever happened to that guy? Well, here's a little story about it. Post-Reaper War with tiny bits of just before the Crucible fired as a sort of prologue. Written for Bluninja's August writing competition 'What I Did This Summer'.


**September 3, 2186**

Why can't it ever be easy?

Not that my life has taken a particularly difficult turn. My cell is warm, furnished with table and cot. Since I'm allowed no omnitool, they've given me paper and graphite with which to write my musings. I even have a bathtub with a privacy screen. What luxury in this gulag. I must be a valued asset in the war. Maybe I can turn that to my advantage one day.

The only downside (other than the crippling boredom) is having to endure my host's endless curiosity. Question after question, they poke and prod, digging for every tiny detail I can remember about my time with Cerberus. The interrogations go on for hours. Sometimes I think they will not be content until they take a melon-baller to my grey matter. Or an asari...Scary thought. And would take all the fun out of this little game of just what to tell them when.

No, my answers have placated them for now. They should, I am telling the truth when I say that I don't know where the Cerberus base is or what the Illusive Man has in store for the future. I could guess, but my captors haven't thought to use me to speculate on possible targets and agendas. Not yet anyway. I'm in no rush for them to figure that out either.

Speaking of prisons, I know I am on a ship. I feel the hum of the decking under my feet, and that tiny push/pull of a mass effect field in motion. For all that I was blindfolded when I was brought aboard, I've lived most of my life on ships. There's a distinct difference between standing on a station and this.

I wonder if I'm the sole prisoner of this transport. If so, the geth primes that walk past my tiny window seem a waste. Overkill, as my NorthAm friends would say. I have no real intention of trying to escape. My only hope of not ending up a crossfire casualty is the amnesty the Alliance is still deliberating on granting. So I'll sit tight and see what tomorrow brings.

**September 10, 2186**

I have a bunkmate now. And from what he tells me, we're on a geth transport converted into a prison ship. A prison ship that is reaching maximum capacity. There are hundreds of us now, incarcerated here on this one ship. I wonder at the wisdom of it, gathering such a concentration of malcontents in one place. Something...untoward might happen.

My new companion is a drell. His name is Tiber Aklion. A quiet fellow who seems undisturbed having a ex-Cerberus general for company. We talk occasionally. It's nice to speak to someone without ulterior motives, even if he's a green, scaly alien.

Tiber, apparently, was some sort of freedom fighter for his people on Kahje. He thought to use the war as a way to take power from the Illuminated Primacy. Obviously, he's not as enamored of the hanar's doctrine of socially acceptable slavery as most of his kind. The way Tiber explains it, it does seem barbaric. Well, the abuses of authority visited on his people were too much for poor Tiber and he was caught trying to organize a rebellion.

Then they labelled him a terrorist and threw him in here. I wonder if that's some sort of profiling, putting all the terrorists together.

He says he had his own cell in the lower decks, but they moved him to make space for the more violent criminals. They even have a yahg down there. I didn't know what the was, but from the horrified way Tiber said it and the description that followed when I asked...well, let's just say I'm glad he's down_ there_. I'd much rather have the quiet, contemplative drell to share this cell with than that beast.

**September 23, 2186**

A man I've only ever known by reputation came to visit me today. Bearing gifts, no less. So, Admiral Hackett and I spent the good part of the afternoon talking strategy over a game of chess. Shepard must have told him how to 'grease the wheels' with this little bribe. If so, I am glad for it.

On the other hand, what I predicted has come true. They want to pick my brains to help them win the war. Seeing as none of us win if the Reapers exterminate us all, I've agreed. What else do I have to do? I don't exactly have a full calendar any more. One thing I gained is full disclosure. What I was told was...amazing. A super weapon! Designed by all the past cycles to take down the Reapers once and for all.

I'm pretty sure I said 'Bozhe moi' more than once or twice as Hackett illuminated me to the particulars of the situation. There were even some gasps from Tiber, who sat in cross-legged meditation on his bunk. I gave my recommendations to Hackett while thoroughly trouncing him with my rooks. Split the fleets; Sword, Shield, Hammer.

There was an urgency to the man. I think the final assault will happen any day now. God help us.

**October 10, 2186**

I'm free! It has been a strange and crazy ride; the last few weeks. Let me recount the tale, now that I have a moment to breathe and write it all down.

Tiber and I were sitting in our cell playing chess when the lights overhead flickered and went out. It was pitch black but for emergency lighting. Silence prevailed; not even the atmo was cycling. The humming of the deck stopped, too. I remember saying to Tiber, "That can't be good."

We both turned in time to see the prime at our window slowly collapse onto its side. Tiber said, "What is happening?"

"I don't know." I replied, walking to the door. I could hear shouting out in the corridors and what I could see of the hallway, it was littered with downed geth. The red circle that used to glow in the center of the door was eerily absent. I gave it an experimental tug with one hand. It shifted, slowly. "Give me a hand."

Together, we pried the door open. I stepped out into the semi-dark hall and knelt to turn the geth prime onto its back. Not an engineer; me, but even I could tell that it was very dead and if_ it_ was dead, then it was a short leap in logic to say that the_ ship_ was dead. It felt dead. I've stood in more than my fair share of derelicts. Whatever was powering the lights must have been running the gravity, too. I felt light, but not weightless. I relieved the geth of its weapon, saying, "We need to get off this boat."

"Escape?" said the incredulous drell at my side.

I handed Tiber the rifle. "Very soon, this place will become a deathtrap. Listen. The air isn't cycling. The doors aren't locked. If those guys below haven't figured that out by now, they will. Let's see who else is on this level and then go try to find some escape pods."

"Do you know anything about geth ships?" Tiber said, helping me pry open cells. "Do they even _have_ escape pods?"

"I'd ask one, but as you can see..." I gestured down the corridor at the unmoving synthetics. "We're shit out of luck."

"But won't the Alliance shoot us on sight as escapees?"

"Like my mother used to say, '_Iz dvukh zol vybirayut men'sheye.' _Choose the lesser of two evils. I'd rather not be torn apart by the maniacs you say inhabit the lower reaches." I scavenged a rifle of my own and any spare heatsinks I could find, tucking them away in my pockets.

A search revealed six more prisoners, all eager as I to get off that dead barge. All military, but higher ups. You know the type, crisp uniforms and soft hands. Officers. I had to hope that they still had some killer instincts somewhere in there. I turned to my new squad. "Okay. Anyone know where the cargo bay or escape pods might be on this boat?"

"Why are we following you again?" One turian said, his fringe rough and cracked with age. He oozed challenge. I could probably push him over with one hand, but refrained._  
_

"Ah, you want to establish some sort of chain of command. Well, let's see. You lot were content to sit in your cells and wait for rescue. Which may or may not be coming. For all we know, the Reapers won and we're about to get blown out of the sky. Me and my friend here just want to find out what the hell is going on. I don't think that's _un_reasonable." I turned my back on the six of them, and said, "By all means, stay put. Wait for those bastards downstairs to come up here and find you."

I may or may not have been cruel enough to then say, "I hear there's a yahg down there. They eat everything, you know. All the way down to the boots."

Tiber laughed in that raspy voice of his and said, "This is General Oleg Petrovsky. _The_ Oleg Petrovsky that stole Omega out from under Aria T'loak's aristocratic nose. You should listen to him."

There were quite a few murmurings after that little announcement. Can't say it didn't inflate my ego a bit. "So, back to my original question. Anyone here have any experience with geth ships and their layout?"

"Down and aft." A woman said, at the rear. The small crowd parted to let her through. I gave her the once-over. Middle-aged, petite, dark of hair and eye. Eyes which glinted like steel. She stuck her hand and said, "Ex-Admiral Anna Patrick."

"Well, Anna, don't think us criminals can really stand on rank any more. But you lot fall in and pretend to be big, bad marines and I'll do my best to get us out of here." I shook her hand and smiled. "Down and aft, you say? Of course it would be down and aft. God has quite the sense of humor."

"There's a lift back there." Tiber said.

We headed to where he indicated and found the promised lift. Inoperable, of course. Using some cabling we ripped from the walls, we abseiled down into the dark. The old turian who gave me the stink-eye earlier couldn't manage on his own, so I made a harness and lashed him about my waist. He was a heavy old _ublyudok, _but I managed. I handed him my rifle. "Point down into the chute, please. There's a light on the end."

"Not my first engagement, human." But he did as I asked and illuminated the empty shaft below us. There was no bottom I could see. My troublesome burden spoke up again, "What do you plan on doing if we encounter hostiles? No shields, no ordnance."

"Well," I grunted, "they don't have shields either. If we stick together and remember our training, we should be okay. Other than that, I guess we'll have to hope we get lucky."

"Huh, luck." He sounded doubtful. "Considering where we ended up, I don't think any of us have that particular affliction."

"Maybe we're due some then. What's your name, old man?"

"Victus. Albion Victus. Formerly Fleet Commander."

"Related to the Primarch?"

"He's my son."

"What are you in for?"

"Oh, sedition mostly. Didn't agree with some of the new policies. Not that that's anything new."

I paused for a breath, resting my weight on a nearby girder. "Not like the old days. Something like that?"

The turian snorted a laugh. "It never is."

"Well, former Fleet Commander Victus, there's an old sayi-" I stopped then. Noises filtered through the door next to me. It led to the level three down from where we'd been incarcerated.

Anna said, "Does anyone else smell smok-?"

"Shhh!" I hissed and leaned closer to the door. Screaming, and the sounds of glass and metal being torn asunder. I touched the door, then jerked my hand away from the hot metal.

"Running out of air and those idiots lit a _fire?!" _Tiber whispered.

The crashing and screaming came closer, until a loud banging on the lift doors made our whole group gasp in unison. I turned to the rest and whispered, "We need to move!"

We rappelled down to the end of our tethers and opened a door to a dark and silent deck. I got a feeling in my guts that it wasn't to be trusted. Waving, I bade the others to follow. Victus handed me my rifle and unslung his own.

Geth of all sorts lay in piles. Some looked...disassembled. Tiber sidled up to me and said, "I heard that on one of these levels they kept prisoners they thought might be indoctrinated."

"Really?" I said, sighing. Nope, it's never easy. "Anna, any idea how far ahead this cargo bay might be?"

"Not too far, I think. Might have access to it from this level. It takes up the majority of the aft section. This ship doubled as a factory. It made geth platforms."

"How do you know that?"

She smiled, a wicked gleam in her eye, "Information is my specialty."

"You're a spy?"

"You could say that." Then she looked past my shoulder and concern lit her features. "What is that?"

I turned, bringing my weapon up to shine a light down the long tunnel. I heard dragging footsteps before they wandered into my light. Men, women, there were even some kids in there. They moved at a shambling gate. Parts of them, heavily augmented parts, seemed inert. Mechanical legs dragged, shiny metal arms lay stiffly at the side of the poor bastard that owned them. Most disturbing were the faces. Slack, mouths open, eyes wide and staring.

I shuddered, remembering those damn adjutants. I never liked them. "Don't come any closer."

The horde stopped at my command. One took a half step closer and said, "Where are the voices? Have you come to bring them back?"

"_Chyort voz'mi..." _I felt my people shuffle into position behind me. _Any minute now-_

The one who spoke drew itself up and shouted, "_You stole the voices, didn't you? Give them back!"_

As one, they ran at us, hands like claws before them. We opened fire. At my order, we kept it to short bursts. I didn't want us to run out of ammo any time soon. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Victus go down. The old turian had held his own fairly well up until that point. Using the butt of my rifle as a club, I broke through that knot of devils and stood over him, yelling for the others to converge around us. They moved like they'd been a squad for years and at my direction, routed the enemy. To a man, they died. I tried not to think of the smaller corpses intermingled in the mess before us. Tried to think of it as mercy.

I helped Victus to his feet. He seemed no worse for wear and waved me off as I expressed my concern. Tiber said, with the ghost of a smile on his face, "What I wouldn't give for an omni-blade."

"Might as well wish for some grenades and missile launchers while you're at it." I said. "Keep close, keep moving."

We surged down the corridor. Smaller groups of baddies menaced us. We downed them as we ran by. Heavy blast doors appeared ahead. I knew that must be the way to the cargo bay. But how to pry it open? We looked about for controls and found them, but they were useless. No juice to power the hydraulics. A man in my squad who introduced himself as Eric told us that if we could find the actual mechanism past the electricals then we could pump it manually. It would be slow and tedious. The door would only open by degrees, but I told him it was all to the good since we didn't know what exactly was on the other side of that door.

"You were an engineer, I take it?"

He touched a hand to his forelock in salute, "Yes, sir."

I returned his salute, then said, "Then get on it, soldier. Time's a-wasting."

He took two others with him into the maintenance tunnels that ran under us while the rest of us guarding the door. True to his word, he soon had the door cranking open bit by bit. As it lifted from the floor, I lay on my belly to peer into the gloom beyond. The cargo bay was huge and full of a couple dozen people, all shouting and arguing. An small Alliance ship was the only vehicle there, one of those twenty man vessels that was hardly bigger than an armored troop transport. Its open door was blocked by half a dozen extremely well armed soldiers. A lieutenant stood at their fore, shouting back at the crowd.

Anna dropped down onto her haunches and said, "What's happening out there?"

"Strange. From the look of it, they've launched a rescue mission, but they're not letting any of the prisoners board." I rubbed the stubble on my cheeks, then stood with a grunt. I then shouted down the hole Eric had disappeared into, "Can you rig that thing to close after we're through? I don't want any of those fucking zombies crawling up our ass."

"Can do, sir. Is it open enough yet?"

"Yes, I'll send the others through and wait for you." I turned to Tiber and Victus, and said, "Keep our people together on the other side. Don't let them join the mob until we figure this bitch out."

Soon we were all safely on the other side of the slowly closing blast doors. At my signal, we approached the craft and crowd cautiously. One man in detainee orange shook his fist and shouted, "You can't do this! It's inhumane!"

"Get us out of here!" shouted many others, until the mob was surging toward the vehicle.

The marine in charge shot his weapon into the air and shouted back, "We're not going anywhere until the Admiral gives the order."

From the screams of outrage, I could tell that statement wasn't well received. I shouted in my shoutiest voice, the one I use to clear whole parade grounds, **"_What is going on here?!"_**

Then those marines saw me and my little group of armed criminals and nearly every weapon swung up to train upon us. I held up my hands to placate them, but advanced regardless of the danger. I said, "Why aren't you getting these people to safety, lieutenant?"

A curious mix of worry and resignation flitted over the man's face before he answered, "Like I told them, that's for the Admiral to decide."

"Don't give me that _chush'. _ Is this a rescue mission or not?"

His eyes darted around, avoiding my gaze and I knew. Their Admiral was missing. Somewhere in the ship behind me. The lieutenant realized that I had realized the truth and shook his head, nostrils flaring. He made an abrupt motion with his hand, beckoning my small group forward, "Leave your weapons with these marines and follow me."

"Why do they get to go on and not us?" shouted the crowd. Angry voices chased us into the ship._  
_

The lieutenant dropped into a chair and motioned for us all to take a seat in what looked like the armory of this bird. Quite an array of impressive firearms gleamed from every wall. I entertained myself by thinking up ways in which my small group of six could take over the ship and escape Alliance custody before they even knew what hit them. But, as always, my curiosity got the better of me and I listened as the lieutenant outlined the current situation.

He said, "Admiral Hackett was on his way to consult with you and other persons on Deck Two when the Crucible fired."

"The Crucible fired? Does that mean we won?"

The man shifted nervously. "The Reapers went dark at 0900. So did all the geth."

"Why did Hackett leave the fleets at the moment of victory?"

"He was looking for a Plan B. It was generally believed that Commander Shepard failed. That he died at the beam. We didn't know he'd made it up onto the Citadel until Admiral Hackett disembarked. Not knowing if the Commander would succeed, the Admiral decided to push on, just in case."

"Then the Crucible fired..." I said, smoothing a hand over my beard. "No escort?"

The lieutenant looked at me like I was an idiot and said, "Of course, he had an escort. Four N7's, like always."

"It's more than likely he's dead, if he hasn't returned by now. Why are you still here?"

"We need him. It's chaos out there. I can't even get a message out to call in reinforcements. We're only getting bits and pieces of info. The fleets are in disarray. So many officers died in the assault that the chain of command is broken." He looked at me in earnest concern bordering on fear, "The Charon Relay is destroyed."

"Where was he when you lost contact?"

"Deck Five elevator." God has a twisted sense of humor.

"That deck is a slaughterhouse... _Chyort_'!_"_ I cursed. Then I stood and stretched with a sigh. "Got any spare armor lying around?"

"What?"

"Well, someone has to go rescue whatever's left of your Admiral. Can't be you. You have to guard this vessel from that mob out there."

"I can't-there isn't a protocol for-"

"Look, son. What have you got to lose? The benefit of being on a ship full of POW's is that most of us know which end of a rifle goes bang. Give me weapons and provisions and I'll find your Admiral."

Anna put her hand on my shoulder and said, "You're going to go back out there? Alone?"

I looked at her and smiled, "Well, I was kind of hoping some of you would like to come along. Not you, old man. You stay here and see if you can't talk some sense into those morons out there."

Victus sat back down, deflated. I felt bad, but the turian would only slow me down. Tiber chuffed a laugh, "I'll go. I wanna see how this pans out anyway."

Eric ran a hand through his hair, "I'm not. I'll tell you how to get the doors open, but I'm not going back out into...that."

Meanwhile, the lieutenant had dredged up some armor. I picked through the pile until I had a complete set of mostly matching bits. Anna stood beside me and shuffled through the pieces too. She sighed and said, "Fine. I'll go, too. Even though I'm starting to think you're mad."

"I'm not mad." I said to her, buckling the last few seals. Then I shot her a lazy smile, and drawled, "I'm Russian."

Getting back to the lift turned out to be not so hard. We took a route some of the other prisoners said was clear of crazies. We shimmied back up the cables and were soon dangling in the shaft staring at that door to Deck Five. Tiber helped me pry it open. Smoke billowed into the shaft. I held my breath until it cleared.

Beyond that, twisted metal and broken crates. It looked like someone had torched anything and everything remotely flammable. Every cell was opened, some more...violently than others. I crept along with my rifle at the ready, saying to the others in a quiet voice, "Clear every room we pass."

In the middle of searching charred corpse-filled cells, I heard shouting and froze. As did my squad. The shouting came closer and we dove into cover just as a huge krogan came barreling around a bend in the corridor. Trailing half a dozen other detainees in his wake. They were chasing him, jeering and laughing. I had to wonder what a krogan could be frightened of. Not these little pissants following him, surely. From the look on his face, it was clear he was terrified.

Making sure the others could see me, I signaled the order to take the pursuers out. The krogan ran past us and we shot his tormentors down in a neat little crossfire. The shots rang out. I winced, sure our 'cover' was blown. But no horde of crazies descended on us after a few and I stood up out of cover. I turned to find the krogan peering back at me from behind a pile of geth guards.

He gasped out between huge, shuddering breaths, "You're...Petrovsky, yeah?"

I nodded. "Seems you have the advantage of me."

"Quash Hurgott. That fancy Admiral kept asking us if we'd seen you around, after the ship went dark. Showed us holos. That was before that bastard yahg got loose."

"Why were you running from these harriers?"

"If you don't want to get eaten, you fetch the monster some food. Apparently, I looked like prime rib to them."

"Barbaric." said Tiber, shifting from one foot to the other uneasily. "Do you know where the Admiral is?"

The krogan threw his hands into the air. "Nope, but I can guess. Down the corridor, past the beast, is a...living larder of sorts."

"Greaaat..." I said, turning on my heel to stalk in that direction. "There's ropes in the elevator shaft. Go down to Deck Seven and make your way aft. You'll find a group of people there in the shuttle bay.

"Wait. Weren't you listening? That damn yahg is over there."

"Yeah, well, none of us are getting off this ship without Admiral Hackett."

"There's only three of you! I saw that fucker take down dozens in a few seconds."

I spun to face the krogan, roaring, "_We don't have a fucking choice!_ Doesn't the air seem a little _thin_ to you? We stay and we're dead. Stop wasting my fucking time!"

"You're insane." he grumbled.

Anna smirked and said, "No, he's Russian."

The krogan snorted. "Are those mutually exclusive?"

I couldn't help but laugh. The others joined me, though the krogan's was a bit shaky and unsure. I said to him, "Come with us. We could use the numbers."

Hurgott sighed and rolled his shoulders, "Fine. Got an extra gun?"

I handed him my Claymore, along with some grenades and flashbangs. Then I started walking.

"A shotgun, huh? Why's the krogan always get the shotgun?" Hurgott said as he dropped into my wake.

"You don't like it you can always give it back."

"No, it'll work. Just seems a bit racist, is all."

"When we get out of here, you can work on social reform."

Anna chuffed a short laugh, then said, "When we get out of here, I'm going to need a drink."

"Same here. Let's all get shitfaced when this is a distant, not too fond memory."

We took out pockets of hunters that randomly popped up into our path. Finally, we got to a place that seemed like the heart of the labyrinth. Half chewed bones littered the decking. It stank of some animalistic musk. And blood, lots of blood. So where was our minotaur? A rippling scream sounded from ahead, along with cracking and ripping noises. Spurred by panic, I burst into a run, my team close on my heels. Pausing at the last bend, I peered around the corner cautiously.

Our friend must have gotten peckish, for there he was, hunched over some poor bastard, eating his face. Past that, I saw a crumpled figure lying prone. The familiar grey hair above the blue uniform cinched it. I hoped that he was still alive. I turned to the others, whispering, "Hackett's in there. I see him. Can't tell if he's still breathing, though."

"What do we do?" Tiber breathed, hands flexing around the grips of his pistols.

"We set a trap. Out there. Go back to the big room and take positions around the edge. I'll lead him to you." When they left, I counted to twenty and then stuck my head back around the corner, shouting, "Hey, Ugly!"

Faster than I expected, he roared and charged at me. My heart pounded fit to bursting as I fled the bulky alien. He was so close, I could feel his breath on the back of my neck. Reaching deep, I put on another burst of speed. A swinging fist clipped my shoulder just as we entered the big room and I was sent flying, crashing into the wall opposite. Turned out to be a good thing as a string of flashbangs went off behind me, turning the world white for a moment. I blinked my vision clear and dove for cover, rolling up into a ready crouch.

I peeked out into the center of the room. The yahg reeled, hands over his many eyes, shouting what I presumed to be curses in its wet and gutteral language. I yelled, "Open fire!"

For not having shields, the creature was remarkably resilient. Then it lit up purple and I knew we might just be in trouble. I shouted to Hurgott, "You didn't tell me he was a biotic!"

"What? You don't like surprises?" The krogan laughed. I took a moment to hate him.

"Keep him confused!" I commanded. My team darted around the behemoth, keeping him spinning to face each new threat that presented itself.

My shots rang off a biotic barrier, but I could see the giant was tiring from trying to run in many directions at once. The fight wound itself down into a stalemate. I knew one way or another, it was about to end. Either we ran out of heatsinks or that barrier would drop. I shouted, "Pick your shots! Short bursts!"

_Uh, oh..._He zeroed in on my voice and charged. I leapt out of the way just in time. He crashed into the wall where I'd just been standing. He staggered, dazed and that damned barrier flickered and died. I roared, _"Grenades!"_

And I'll be damned if not every single grenade we were carrying wasn't soon sailing through the air to land in the yahg's lap. I slid behind a pile of debris just as they exploded, nearly knocking me senseless with sound and heat. I was pummeled by flying bits of bone and other squishy things I'd rather not identify. I looked for the yahg, but there was nothing left but a greasy smear and chunks of still wobbling bits. The others came over to stand by me.

"Overkill." I said, looking at them with a smirk.

"_G'nnarsh nakat kk'eshi garamok."_ said our krogan. I turned on him a questioning stare. He provided, "One of my people's sayings. It means, 'like nuking a den of pyjaks'."

"My people say, 'to swat insects with the tide'." Tiber said, as he grinned.

"Yes, yes, we all have a saying like that." Anna said, with a certain amount of exasperation. She walked briskly down the corridor to the 'larder'. I looked at the other men and shrugged in the universal sign that meant, _Women._ They laughed. Perhaps we're not all as different as I'd thought. We followed and found her kneeling over Hackett, checking his vitals. She said, "He's alive. Barely."

"Pick him up and let's get out of here." I said.

Hurgott bent and lifted Hackett with a grunted, "I see now why you wanted me to come along. For all the heavy lifting."

"And your winning personality." I led them back down and out, thundering through the crowd of criminals before any of them got the bright idea of using the admiral as a hostage. The lieutenant brightened up as I brought his charge safely aboard their craft. I turned to him and said, "Now can we leave?"

The marine turned to his men and ordered them to get everyone aboard and locked down. Only me and my team were not treated as prisoners. For which I am grateful. I was sitting in the medbay when Hackett woke. He rolled his eyes to me and I saw astonishment flicker in there for a moment, though none of this showed on his scarred face. My admiration for the man went up a notch. He coughed and said, "Petrovsky."

"Admiral."

"Am I a hostage?"

I laughed, pleased that he thought I was so formidable, "This is still your ship, sir. I don't think a hostile takeover would have went over so well with your lieutenant. He's very...keen."

He sat up, wincing. "What happened to that...?"

"Yahg. We killed it."

"Then it seems I owe you one." He said, scrubbing at his face with one hand. "It...ate my men. Soren, Roberts, Wagner and Pleasant."

"We all lose good men." I said, with sympathy. "On the bright side, it looks like you won your war."

Hackett sat up straighter at that and smiled, "Shepard did it."

I broached the next subject carefully. The lieutenant and I had a long talk after the ship disembarked. "He's..dead. The Citadel crashed to the Earth after the Crucible fired."

"So many good men. Gone. We're going to feel it in the aftermath." The Admiral slumped, looking defeated for the first time I can ever recall. He passed his hand over his eyes and said, "Well, I guess your amnesty is pretty much guaranteed, but maybe I can tempt you with another offer."

Intrigued, I gestured that he continue.

"We could use a man like you, General. Someone who sees the big picture."

"Your regulars won't mind working with a traitor? A...terrorist?"

"I think they'll be so relieved to have help, they won't care much who's giving it."

I let him dangle for a bit. We all like our little games. Then I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, saying, "Actually, I was thinking along the same lines. Now that we're putting all our cards on the table, there's something you should know."

"And that is?"

"You know that I know a lot more about Cerberus ops than I ever let on during interrogation." I began. He nodded. I sighed and continued, "And you know it's an organization with many cells, all operating independently. Well, the Illusive Man had many friends, but two he held over any other. Me and..an old colleague. Cerberus is a _three-_headed dog."

From the look of horror he gave me, I knew he understood. And appreciated the weight my olive branch. Never thought I'd be recruited back into the Alliance, but desperate times and all that. I think I'll hang onto this journal. Maybe it'll end up being my memoirs. I have a feeling my adventures are far from over.

* * *

A/N: Alright, so, it got a little away from the essay format. Hope it was entertaining nonetheless. Playing in Oleg's head was fun. Who knows, this may lead to a serial. lol.


End file.
